Another of those SubZero's Apprentice Stories
by anywhat
Summary: Yeah. Yeah it is.


**So I know its been done before. In fact its been done rather well. But there were some things I'd like to see happen, so this is my interpretation. And no, this is not Frost, so be forewarned. Feedback is appreciated.**

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><p>Ventry watched as the fist made its way to the black haired one's solar plexus. As it cut through the air, she thought about the sharp sidestep or the small push or the knocking block that the black haired one could use to avoid it, but watched as the man just flitted his eyes at the punch. They widened slightly as his brain made the connections, but he moved too slow. Ventry saw the impact make its way several inches into his stomach. The black hair moved foreward as the head came down to watch the punch, make sure his screaming stomach wasn't lying to him. And then his nose became very intimate with an elbow. A wet crunch signaled to the watchers that the elbow the green eyed one used to follow up had indeed broken the nose. When black hair took the step back from the pain, Ventry knew the fight was over. Green eyes had fought before, and he held his advantage like a bulldog on a wolf's throat. There would be no time for recovery.<p>

Two quick jabs to the face and black hair was down. Damn fool should know to work through the pain, Ventry thought to herself, but knew it was pointless. Not everyone was hard yet. That's what separated the fighters from the rest.

"You," Jesse raised the hand of the big nosed one, grinning like he was giving his nephew an especially expensive present, "are victorious!" The crowd cheered and clapped and raised beer bottles in appreciation. Ventry, however, remained still. She looked closely at the man, noting how his eyes shone with satisfaction at his win, however small it was. He turned around to get the full effect of the crowd cheering him on, and Ventry knew it was why he came. The approval of others was like a drug to him, and he came more and more often with each passing day. Ventry had seen it before. She toyed with the idea of walking up and patting him on the back, good boy good boy way to go, but discarded it.

Jesse dropped his hand and went back to his stand, a small box in the middle of the dank, crowded alley that gave him superior height over the crowd. "Last of the night, folks. See you next time." Jesse climbed down from the box and went his own way, off into the black of the alley. Ventry watched the crowd disperse, back to their various boxes or apartments. All kinds were attracted to the fights, she had learned. Some came for the adrenaline of watching, or the pleasure in viewing other's pain, but the watchers were not limited by income.

Ventry left and wandered the alleys, occasionally moving to a major street when she sensed someone ahead. No point in unnecessary meetings. After some small amount of time had passed, however, she made her way back to the small door on Pole Alley. She took the small brass key from its place under the lid of the trashcan and turned the lock, who clicked a hello back.

Jesse was in his overstuffed easy chair, as always. He looked up at her with sly eyes as she made her way towards her own only moderately stuffed chair. "Anyone look interesting?" he asked her. He had started to ask her about the styles of the others, questions about how she sized them up and her methods of defeating them.

"Not in particular," she returned nonchalantly. It was true. The night had been relatively uneventful, no one displaying the qualities of a hard fighter. Just another night watching the crowd as they leaned in and spilled beer on each other and bet on the meanest looking one.

Jesse grinned at her. "Really? I thought the one who won the last round was pretty good."

Ventry knew he was toying with her. "Then you're losing your touch. That man was so predictable I could have given him a script before the fight."

"Managed to win, though," Jesse countered.

Ventry shrugged. "Faster reflexes than most."

"Mmmm," Jesse put the conversation aside. "You're fighting tomorrow. The Oakland house."

"Against who?" Ventry tilted her chin.

"Guy who goes by Gloves. Wins most of his matches. I hear his gloves are weighted."

Ventry smirked with her mouth. "Weighted gloves, huh? Maybe I should just back out now."

Jesse lolled his head back and grinned. "Get some rest. Have to look pretty when you beat him shitless."

"Language," Ventri muttered, but let it by. Now wasn't the time to argue with Jesse. She made her way back into her room and eased herself out of the deep purple jacked she always wore. It didn't do too much to flatter her rather flat figure, but it was comfortable and she always felt calmer when wearing it. She didn't go so far as to wear it to bed, though. It stayed hung on the hook behind the door, keeping watch over the dark room.

She crawled into bed, snuggling in the rather downy covers. Jesse had mentioned how the fluffy nature of the comforter contrasted with her hard lifestyle, but she had merely replied that it felt nice. Jesse had rolled his eyes. Slowly, she drifted off into sleep, her hand absently stroking her hair.

Ventry stayed in the next day. She exercised for a few hours, keeping her body lithe and lean. Jesse approved of her excersizing. No one wants to bet on a pudgy chick, he mentioned. Afterwards, she opened the fridge. The little family of Chinese takeout, orange juice, and some eggs waved hello. Hi Ventry, nice to visit. Do I smell bad to you? Ventry wasn't that hungry anyway. If she ate a little more, Jesse had reasoned, she might not look like a knockoff skeleton on the after Halloween sale, but eating wasted valuable time, time for sleeping and reading and walking.

Soon Jesse came back from wherever he had gone and motioned for her to follow. Silence was Jesse's pep talk when he was slightly nervous, although he had no reason to be. Jesse led her to a storefront on one of the busier streets. _Bernie's Books_, the sign above the door read.

"Now remember, convince them," Jesse reminded her one last time. Ventry nodded. Bets were only high when it looked like it was close, although her track record had begun to make a name for itself.

She followed Jesse into the store. "Can I help you?" a man called from behind the counter. Ventry's mind wandered as she thought about the old man in the ring, helping her. He'd probably wave his fists in one of those stupid boxing patterns. Wouldn't last ten exhales. "We're just here for a minute," Jesse replied. The man nodded and left his place behind the counter to lead them to one of the back rooms. He opened a closet door to reveal a set of stairs, spiraling down. Jesse nodded at him and made his way down, Ventry behind.

As Ventry walked into the basement, the familiar smell of anticipation greeted her. Fighting was one of the most addicting sports, and those privy to its secrets found themselves lured to watch more and more. She was about to satisfy their needs, and so she ignored the judging glances sent her way. After so long, she had just accepted it as another part of the match. Does she look dangerous? Not very top heavy. Strong, hmmm. What did the other guy look like again?

Jesse wasn't announcing here. Jesse only announced his little street quarrels, where he scouted for fighters of notable talent. This was above him. Ventry handed him her jacket and walked into the ring in her dark, loose pants and equally flexible button up shirt. Many had jeered at her outfit, but she was comfortable in the clothes and they gave her one less thing to worry about. The announcer walked to the center of the ring. He looked on the other side of fifty, graying hair and skinny arms. He had the announcer voice though, waving at you to look look look now.

"Ladies and gentleman, in this corner, fighting for us today is Dancer." Ventry kept her face in neutral. Her stage name, Dancer, had been more given than chosen. When people had started noticing her, they had referred to the style that she fought with as dancing, and the name stuck. It didn't sound very intimidating, she admitted, but she would let her actions speak for her.

"And opposing her is a new fighter to the ring, Gloves," the man announcing gestured toward the other end of the ring, where the man who went by Gloves finally made his appearance. Ventry looked him up and down, letting her eyes freely rake him without displaying emotion other than muffled concentration. Jesse had told her this was one of her most disconcerting traits, how her eyes never looked anything less than scrunitizing, but she shrugged it off. When he had to worry about whether the opponent was going to punch or jab, then he could tell her to stop paying attention.

Gloves was average in build, for one who fought. His muscles, easily visible for he wore no shirt, were hard, but not unnaturally huge like some of the men Ventry had fought before. He bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, and Ventry noticed the ease with which he held himself. Good balance, she thought to herself offhandedly. He turned his head to look at a man, and Ventry noticed how fast his neck moved. Fast reflexes made for an interesting bout.

"Ready," the announcer called, eyes glittering. Gloves and Ventry nodded. "Fight."

Gloves moved first, throwing an exploratory punch at Ventry. The punch came from inside and moved straight toward her face. Ventry watched it come, noting how keenly the eyes of her opponent watched her reaction. Convince them, Ventry reminded herself. She swayed back from the punch, watching it get so close to her face, noting the small creases in the black leather. Must wear those gloves often, she thought. Didn't look weighted, unless they had developed some magically heavy leather in the past week and this random fighter got his fingers on it.

As he withdrew the punch, Ventry tried the same tactic, aiming her punch at his stomach instead. She watched as he sidestepped, his leg slowly moving back to get his center of gravity out of her way. As she thought about the sweep she'd like to level at his anchor leg while he moved, she cursed her body for the thousandth time. No matter how slow her brain made time look, she couldn't loose her body from its hold, moving at the same horribly slow pace as her adversaries. Damn wall would not let her through.

When her punch missed, he jabbed at her face. She let it connect, rolling away from it slightly to lessen its impact. No point in damaging herself this early on. The pain was still proficient, and most would have needed a second to recoil from it. Ventry, however, had trained herself to ignore her body's cries and kneed the man in the stomach, hard, while he drew back his fist. She watched his eyes widen in shock, then pain. Off to the side, Jesse let one side of his mouth turn up.

She aimed a sharp kick at his shin, hearing a satisfying crack. The watchers here needed some bloodshed. It kept them happy. Hungry hungry hippos need some bloody bloody action. These fights often ended with serious injury and one or two had even met their death in these rings, but that was part of the deal. She hoped the man had enough guts to keep fighting.

Ventry was relieved when he did, throwing two jabs at her face, which she easily blocked with her guarding fists. She slowed him down as he reeled back his hand to throw a hard haymaker into her middle, observing the hard, angry light that had entered his eyes. Probably thought this was just going to be some easy match against a girl, she correctly assumed. Now that it was getting difficult, he was getting angry. The leg she just broke didn't do much to help matters.

She copied his move from before, sidestepping the haymaker. When he saw this, Gloves attempted the shin kick which was so successful against him, but she saw his muscles tense and coil and knew his motives. His leg moved to strike at her, but she planted her foot down and raised the one he aimed at. When his leg passed through the empty air he foot left, she stamped down on his ankle, crushing the mix of tendons and bones that resided there.

She watched him exhale with shock, then as his face twisted with pain. That foot, she knew, would no longer support him, perhaps ever. Now was the finishing time. This crowd wanted violence, and she was here to please. She gave him a couple of mean jabs in the face, knowing that the overload of pain was dulling his nerves. He finally fell, a bloody heap on the ground. Money entered Jesse's pockets.

"It seems we have our winner," the announcer happily cried. He waved a hand dramatically at Ventry. "Until the next fight," he bid the crowd farewell.

Ventry made her way back over to Jesse. He was pleased, she saw from the relaxed manner of his eyes.

"Good job," he told her. She nodded, keeping her eyes in neutral as always. Emotion only caused trouble, and it had no place in a fight.

Jesse started off toward the door and she followed. He would give her some money when they got back. It would be nowhere near half, but that was okay. She didn't buy much anyway, just stashed it away. Maybe she'd treat herself to dinner somewhere fancy.

They walked out of the bookstore, not bothering with the counter man. He barely glanced at them. They entered the flow of people walking and joined with them seamlessly, all moving in the same direction like fish in a stream. After so long, they ducked off into an alley.

"Did I tell you you did good?" Jesse asked, looking at her. He always paid compliments after a win, the silver tongued flatterer. "Your stage name really does suit you. You might have been floating up there, especially with that knee. Not many people have that kind of grace."

Ventry shrugged as she walked, not letting herself be affected by Jesse's praise. So what if she could gracefully knee a man in the gut? The only thing he cared about was the money in his pocket, she reasoned with herself, and that was fine. People came and people went.

They continued down the alley, walking together in companionable silence, when it happened. Jesse had cocked his head at her, probably to say something else flattering, when his eyes widened slightly with shock. Ventry's amazing brain slowed down time so she could take in the details, the gunshot that reverberated in her ears, the way Jesse's jacket suddenly fluttered open, the first drops of blood that presented themselves on his spotless green coat. She watched him fall, hand going to his chest, hair slowly waving from the wind his actions were making.

When he was on the ground, she saw the man behind him, holding his gun, aiming at her. She saw his finger tense and pull the trigger, saw the bullet leave the gun.

And then she was being tackled by a man, pulled out of the way. The bullet whistled harmlessly past them and into a trashcan, letting lose a loud thud as if it was saying _damn, missed._ They hit the ground and slid a few feet on the rough stone. She twisted her head to look back at the stranger, and raised her eyebrows fractionally at what she saw.

The man was clad in blues and black, a dark blue mask covering the lower half of his face. His arms were bare, save the rather old-fashioned braces that adorned them. He was incredibly fit, she noticed, muscles highly defined. His eyes were a deep blue, the kind she knew could change colors from light to dark in seconds.

The stranger was making some odd motions with his hands. She wondered if it was that crazy focusing crap that ninjas sometimes did. Then a shining blue light appeared between his hands. He pushed at it, sending it at the gunman who had rounded the corner and was taking aim at them. Her jaw dropped fractionally when the ball erupted at first contact, coating the man in a veneer of ice. There's no way he can breathe in that, she realized. He was dead.

Death brought her attention back to Jesse. She ran to him, feeling for a pulse, but it was too late. He was already gone. She bitterly wished she could have been with him in his last moments, walked him through as the light drained from his eyes.

She was in shock, but she still noticed the strong arms that wrapped themselves around her and forced her to her feet. "It's not safe here," a deep, although strangely emotional voice said. It was likef the man was trying to calm her. "Come with me."

Ventry didn't react. No matter how slow her brain made things look, she couldn't rewind what had happened. Jesse was dead. There was a man holding her. A man that could freeze people. Jesse was dead. Light could freeze.

"I've got her," the man said to no one. Oh and he's insane, Ventry thought to herself. I'm being bear hugged by a crazy who can freeze people, like the gunman that just killed Jesse. This just gets better and better. Light filled her vision, and she felt the strangest feeling of electricity play on her skin.


End file.
